


who could ask for anything more?

by patchlybadgely



Category: An American in Paris - Gershwin/Lucas
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, HAPPY BIRTHDAY PENZY!!!, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Some angst, but like just enough to make it spicy yknow, literally so much fluff this is so indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchlybadgely/pseuds/patchlybadgely
Summary: Henri finds it hard to ask for love. Adam finds it hard to believe someone could love every part of him.Being true to your desires isn't easy, but they make it work.
Relationships: Henri Baurel/Adam Hochberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	who could ask for anything more?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenzyRome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenzyRome/gifts).



> happy birthday to one of my best friends, the amazing penzyrome!! you're such a great friend to me penzy, you let me rant about my amazing girlfriend, my mental health stuff, my personal issues and even just fun au ideas and i really value that bond. thanks for being so supportive for all this time! and thanks for showing me an american in paris, s'wonderful.

Something Henri learned early in his life was that love was not an easy thing to ask for.

With his family, it was of the utmost importance to be Normal, with a capital N in neat cursive writing. And being a Normal boy meant not needing things like physical contact and intimacy. If Henri dared to hug his parents or hold their hands, he’d be met with a stern scolding and a slap on the wrist, and if he dared to cry over that, then he’d be sent to his room. It was lonely, growing up to feel as if love was something he wasn’t allowed to have, even from his own parents, for reasons he didn’t even understand.

And then, Lise. Lise was magic to Henri – her skill of knowing exactly when Henri needed a hand to hold or a kiss to his cheek could only be described as magic. He didn’t even have to ask – she just knew. It was a talent that fooled his gullible little heart into believing he truly loved her; but while Henri was happy with Lise, happy to wrap an arm around her waist and rest his head on hers, they both knew the truth – it wasn’t love. Not truly. Henri did love her, he did, but when he wanted to be kissed and held, when he dreamt of a perfect person who he could ask for love and be met with nothing but agreement, it wasn’t Lise he dreamt of. They loved each other, but they weren’t _in_ love, and despite what Henri’s parents thought, there was a very big difference.

That was where Adam came in.

Bold and brash Adam, the exact opposite of gentle, magical Lise. He refused to make it easy for Henri and, in a strange way, Henri thanked him for that. When he thought about how far he’d grown since meeting Adam, since being with him in this perfect way, he was nothing but grateful. Adam did not give love unprompted, like Lise had. There needed to be an equal give and take, something Henri had failed to offer in the past. He had taken advantage of Lise’s kindness and willingness to give him whatever he wanted – he had taken her love and affection freely and only given a small amount back. That hadn’t been fair, and he refused to make the same mistakes with Adam. Henri wanted to be true to his desires, true to himself; he wanted to show Adam how much he cherished him, and that meant being willing to ask for love, being willing to be vulnerable. Henri knew that. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to actually do it.

It was a chilly winter afternoon, and they were holed up in Adam’s apartment to beat the cold. Henri had been hoping for one of those romantic afternoons he’d dreamt of as a boy, where the couple bundled up in a large blanket and cuddled up by the window, watching the world pass by. And he knew Adam knew that, the bastard. But if Henri didn’t ask, Henri didn’t get, a lesson Adam was very adamant in teaching, and Henri was finding very difficult to learn.

“Something the matter, Henri?” Adam asked innocently from where he was plunking the keys of his piano, after Henri’s third dramatic sigh.

He could just ask. He could say Adam, cuddle with me, and he knew Adam would agree. Why was it so _difficult?_

“Nothing, nothing.” Henri said quickly. Adam rose an eyebrow at him, and Henri hoped that he might just understand and come cuddle with him. But Adam simply turned away and continued to play a mockingly merry tune, and Henri cursed him in his mind.

He swallowed, hard, and cleared his throat.

“It’s cold.”

His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and he knew Adam noticed. At least he didn’t say anything about it, which was somewhat nice.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Never mind. Adam was a mean and horrid man and Henri hated him.

Henri stood up jerkily from where he was lounging on Adam’s couch and walked in stiff, awkward strides to grab a blanket from Adam’s bed. Instead of walking back, he stood awkwardly on the far side of the room, just a few paces away from where Adam was playing at the piano. Adam shot him a questioning look.

“You can go to sleep, if you want. Probably warmer in the bed.”

He didn’t _want_ the bed, he wanted Adam, why was it so hard to say so?!

“I’m fine.” Henri said quietly. Adam looked at him sympathetically, and scooted ever so slightly on the piano bench. That was all the invitation Henri needed. He all but scampered to Adam’s side and sat next to him on the bench, his back stiff and rigid. He silently hoped Adam would offer him some more, but no such luck. Adam had done his part – Henri needed to do the rest.

He shuffled closer, his elbow bumping against Adam’s own as he played. He leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder and traced his finger over his suspenders before tugging wantonly. Adam sighed with an exasperated smile and finally, _finally_ stopped playing. Henri hoped, for a stupid moment, that Adam would show him mercy and give in, but Adam was a cruel man, cruel in his talent and his beauty and his love, and he would never pass up a chance to make Henri work for something.

“What’s the magic words, Henri?” He said playfully.

Henri was certain it was because he was French. He saw the blush that dusted Adam’s face whenever Lise teasingly called him _‘monsieur’_ or the way he had to stop and catch his breath whenever Henri sang _‘La Vie en Rose’_. He peered up at Adam through his lashes.

_“Sil vous plait?”_

As cruel as Adam could be, the reward he gave Henri always made up for it.

He kissed him slowly and gently, like the first few steps of a waltz. He took his time and explored leisurely, tugging on Henri’s lower lip or tracing his tongue along the seam of his lips just to see what Henri’s reaction would be. As much as Adam loved to make Henri jump through the hoops, he gave him so much in return. He held onto Henri’s hip, smiled against his mouth, made him feel special and desirable and so, so loved.

As much as Henri enjoyed the wonderful kisses Adam gives him, he knew Adam especially loved the breathless moment afterwards, when their foreheads were pressed together and they were both just a little bit breathless, and Henri’s eyes were still closed and his lips were still parted and Adam got to look at the result of his handiwork with a smug smile.

“There.” Adam said once Henri opened his eyes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Henri pouted and buried his face in Adam’s neck.

“You’re a cruel man, Adam Hochberg.” He muttered sulkily. “A very cruel man.”

“I know.” Adam said gleefully. “Now.” He pulled Henri out of his hiding placed and forced him to look into Adam’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Henri tugged on the blanket awkwardly.

“Sit with me on the windowsill?” He asked quietly. “Warm me up?”

Adam smiled and pressed another lingering kiss to Henri’s lips. He got to his feet and slung the blanket over his shoulder before bowing deeply and offering Henri his hand.

_“Monsieur?”_

“Awful.” Henri scoffed, taking his hand anyways. _“Awful_ little man. And your accent is still terrible.”

Adam rolled his eyes and settled on the windowsill next to him.

“C’mere, ya brat.” He snorted, wrapping the blanket over his shoulders and holding his arm out for Henri to snuggle in. “Nice and warm now?”

“Yes.” Henri smiled, pressing a kiss to Adam’s cheek. “Thank you, _mon coeur.”_

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Henri was about to make a playful retort when a wisp of white caught his eye.

“Oh!” He gasped, pressing his hands against the window in delight. “Adam – Adam, look, it’s, um – it’s – oh, your silly language – _neige?”_

“Snow.” Adam translated. “Didn’t think we’d get any this early.”

“It’s beautiful.” Henri sighed wistfully.

“It won’t stick. The ground’s too wet.”

“Oh, hush.” Henri scoffed, slapping Adam’s shoulder. “It’s still pretty.”

Adam gave him a soft, gentle look, and tightened his arm around Henri’s shoulders, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Yeah.” He said quietly, pressing a kiss to Henri’s jaw. “Still pretty.”

And that was where they stayed, staring at the snow, smiling like fools and trading kisses back and forth. Henri was grateful for Adam, loud and stubborn and downright infuriating as he could be. He was grateful for his music and his smiles and the way he could coax Henri out of his boring Baurel shell and into something more _him_. Adam would give him all the love he needed, all the songs and kisses and cuddles on windowsills that Henri ever desired.

All he had to do was ask.

oOo

For most of Adam’s life, he’d been perfectly content to live as a miserable old bastard who only lived to piss off others. But then Henri goddamn Baurel came into his life like the world’s fanciest hurricane, and now Adam had to live with the fact that he was actually becoming a Good Person.

Adam had spent his life being certain that the only thing that could love him was the bottom of a bottle. Being from such a large family, he always went through life unnoticed – he honestly doubted his mother had even noticed when she’d given birth to him. He could clean the house until it shone, he could play Fantaisie Impromptu until his fingers bled, he could do anything and everything they wanted a thousand times over and they still wouldn’t notice. The only time Adam ever _did_ get noticed was when he drank. God, did his dad give him hell for that. And then when he caused trouble at dinner, or got into fights with his brothers or told Aunt Meredith to stop acting like a child for once in her life (what? Everyone else had wanted to). _Then_ he got noticed. Fuck, it was impossible for people not to notice him, and it was funny and irritating and satisfying and painful all at the same time. Bittersweet.

It didn’t take long for Adam to learn that some people weren’t meant to be loved, be it loved by parents, by siblings, by women, you name it. He’d tried his whole life and never got anything better than second best – if that was as far as trying got him, then why try at all? So he accepted it – the drinking, the shitty apartment, the crummy jobs. It was the best he could get, after all, so why not try and be content with it?

And then Henri came in, with a flourish and a ‘chip-chip!’, and all of a sudden, Adam had dreams again.

It was far too easy to get swept up in Henri’s stories. The way he spoke of fame and New York and Radio City made Adam begin to think it might be possible. But Adam had gotten his hopes up before, and he knew exactly what that lead to. So he was rude and snide and insisted Henri’s dreams would be dashed the moment he set foot in America, because there was no way he was letting this pretty little French boy crush him like everyone else had.

But he played for him anyways, wrote his songs and bickered with him over what keys to play in or what lyrics sounded better, because deep down, a small part of him just wanted to believe in something again. To feel special, to feel like he could do something and be _noticed_ for once.

He thought Lise could give him that – and she did, in a way. With the inspiration she’d given him, Adam was noticed far and wide, and while they weren’t meant to be, Adam was grateful for what she had given him, and what he hoped he had given her in return. Henri, though... Henri was something else entirely. Lise had inspired Adam’s music, but Henri? Henri inspired his soul, his heart, the way he saw the world. Henri made him realize the importance of pretty things, of laughter and dancing and singing like you didn’t care who heard. He made Adam shed his old, miserable skin and emerge as something bright and new, something worth the love Henri so willingly gave.

That was what frustrated him, sometimes.

As changed as Adam was, far more happy and far less drunk than had been before Henri came into his life, he was still Adam. He still drew from life, still desired to share the truth of the world with others, still appreciated feeling sad and knowing other people felt the same. It was a strange kind of comfort, to know he wasn’t alone in a place that could feel so lonely at times. He was better than he used to be – he knew it was selfish to try and drag people to drown in his sorrow with him, he did. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be ignorant. He couldn’t just ignore whatever negative feelings he felt and distract himself with a merry tune – he needed to _feel,_ and after spending so much time numbing his feelings in drink, embracing his feelings was more important to him than ever... But all that seemed to do sometimes was remind Adam of how ugly his feelings could be. Not like Henri, with his perfect smiles and beautiful eyes and a voice that made everyone want to sing along with him. Nothing like Henri. And it made Adam wonder sometimes, wonder how someone as bright and beautiful and downright perfect as Henri could want to stay stuck to someone as tragic and undeserving like himself.

Sometimes, he just needed to know. Did Henri ever wish for more? For him to smile more often, to play something prettier than his usual style? Did he ever want to change him?

So Adam would fall into his old habits. Not the drinking, thank god, but the aggravation, absolutely. He’d sit at his piano and thud at the keys until the crashing sounds made even his ears hurt, the ugliest cry for help a person could make.

 _Please,_ the low notes would sob as they rang throughout the apartment. _Please like this just the same. Please let this be part of your stairway to paradise._

Henri sat quietly beside Adam as he bashed out Clair de Lune on the lowest possible key. Adam’s fingers fumbled on the keys as he sat down – Henri’s presence was so soft, so gentle, it made him want to play something more delicate. But he refused. He needed to know.

Henri laid his hands carefully over Adam’s own, and his playing slowed to a halt. Adam cursed inaudibly. Fucking Henri.

“It must hurt your fingers, to play so hard.” Henri murmured, taking one of Adam’s hands in his own and rubbing his thumbs against the knots in the muscle.

“I didn’t mind it.” Adam said, trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably. Of course Henri was being sweet when he was being horrible. Of fucking _course_.

“I don’t think Debussy intended it to be played like that.”

And there it was. The easy way out Adam could take so very easily.

“I don’t really care what Debussy intended.”

He decided to go in the complete opposite direction instead.

“I’m sure Debussy is very insulted by that.”

They’ve said Debussy so many times it no longer sounded like a real word.

“Well, God forbid someone try and be sad.” Adam scoffed bitterly. “I mean, shit, does everything has to be all twinkly and happy and everything’s fine? It’s not, it’s fucking _not_. Why should I pretend that it is all the time?”

Henri sighed, the non-verbal equivalent of ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’. Adam hated it. Well – not _hated_ , he couldn’t hate anything about Henri. He hated how it made him feel. How he knew Henri was right to be disappointed in him.

“You know...” Henri said slowly. “A very clever man once said, if you could make someone laugh... If you could make their life _better_ , for just a moment... Why would you withhold that?”

A lump formed in Adam’s throat. He tried to swallow it down. He felt like a child.

“I can’t be that man all the time, y’know.” He said quietly. His voice cracked on the last word. So fucking childish, why did Henri put up with him?

“I know.” Henri smiled, pressing a kiss to Adam’s palm. “And that’s okay. But you don’t need to go out of your way to make something depressing just to prove a point, you know.”

Adam snorted. It was an ugly sound, but it made Henri smile anyway, for whatever reason.

“So what, I’m supposed to make a sad song happy?”

 _“No,”_ Henri chastised in a way that made it clear he didn’t really mean it, and pressed a playful kiss to Adam’s hair. “Play something that’s sad for a _reason_. Not to spite someone or to prove a point. Play something that has meaning to you, and I will be the happiest man in Paris.”

Stupid pretty Henri with his stupid pretty words. How could Adam refuse him?

He played about drinking. About doing everything right and getting nothing in return. About shitty apartments and out of tune pianos. About the sick satisfaction of doing wrong because you _want_ to, not because you have to. About refusing to let yourself dream again, because of the inevitable disappointment that will come with it.

He played about cramped dressing rooms. About cuddling by the windowsill on a winter afternoon. About cold feet and warm hearts. About a stairway to paradise – how difficult it was to build, but how freeing it was to climb.

His fingers dance over the last few notes, and they hover in the air for a moment, leaving the two of them trapped in the magic bubble the music had made around them. Once the final vibrations faded into nothingness, Henri breathed.

“Not too dark for ya, pretty boy?” Adam asked, his voice hesitant and shaky, like a boy asking someone to dance for the first time.

Henri shook his head. He rose his hands to his lips and took a shuddery breath, like he was about to cry, and Adam felt his stomach plummet.

“Oh, Adam...” Henri murmured. The hairs on Adam’s neck stood upright. “It was _wonderful.”_

The lump in Adam’s neck became harder to swallow down.

“Yeah?” He smiled awkwardly. “Thought you liked pretty things...”

“I do.” Henri laughed shakily. “It _was_ , Adam, so pretty... But painful, too. Devastating, really. But also hopeful. Longing, yearning... The way it ended, that string of notes... It sounded like acceptance, no? Was that the point?”

“Uh...” Adam frowned. What _had_ been the point? “I suppose, yeah... Accepting that this is the way things are. Accepting that this is how you need to feel, sometimes... And that’s okay.”

“Bittersweet.” Henri mused quietly. He leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder and hummed contentedly. “I like it. What’s it called?”

Adam clicked his tongue and rested his cheek on Henri’s hair.

“Not sure yet. I’ll work on it, though.”

Henri looked up at him in surprise.

“You wrote that now?”

Adam cleared his throat awkwardly. Henri simply rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“You never stop to amaze me, Adam Hochberg.”

And Adam went to correct him for a moment – not because he cared, just because that’s what he did – but thought better of it. Why ruin something so perfect just to prove a point? It was unnecessary.

“Sure you don’t mind me being miserable at times?”

He phrased it like a joke. They both knew it wasn’t.

“Adam.” Henri said, gentle but firm. “I... I will never be happy that you are sad. But if I know you’re being true to yourself and your feelings, I will always listen to what you play.”

And he knew. The Thing with a capital T that they were both deliberately choosing not to say yet. The Thing they felt when they woke up together each morning and kissed each other before bed each night. The Thing they felt when their eyes met across the stage, Henri singing his heart out and Adam playing like it was what he was born to do. It just wasn’t time yet. There had been enough emotional dramatics for one day. Soon, though. Perhaps over dinner – something romantic with candles and flowers, like Henri deserved.

“Okay, I’ve put up with your moping, you have to put up with my singing.” Henri declared, slapping Adam’s shoulder and sitting upright. “Play me our song, the one we finished with Jerry. Make it pretty!”

Adam rolled his eyes, but played anyways, with some little extra flourishes thrown in here and there – it was worth it to see Henri’s exasperated looks, the ones that tried to be frustrated but were given away by his wide smiles. He plucked away at the keys with a bounce in his fingers as Henri sang next to him, pretty as can be.

_“I got rhythm,_

_I got music,_

_I got my guy,_

_Who could ask for anything more?”_

**Author's Note:**

> i,,, kinda don't like this all that much i think it's kinda cheesy?? and i'm not sure if i got my messages across as well as i hoped? but i hope you enjoyed it anyways.


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